


Beneath the Moonlight We Lie

by flipflop_diva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Porn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione had never seen Pansy like this before. But then again, they had never had a moment like this before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Moonlight We Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Harry Potter [Femmefest](http://femmefest.livejournal.com/97502.html).

The faint glow of the moonlight peeking through the windows of Gryffindor Tower was the first thing she was aware of when she forced herself back into wakefulness. Dark strands of hair tickling her neck and a heavy weight on her chest were the second and third things she was aware of, and she sighed softly in the dark dormitory.

“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly, trying to glance down. The dark head of hair moved, and this time Hermione could feel warm lips graze over her collarbone, making her shiver despite herself. Gentle fingers were latched around her wrist.

“Making sure you’re okay,” came the murmured reply. “You don’t sound happy to see me.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

The head lifted, and half a second later, Hermione found herself staring into a set of dark eyes that she hadn’t seen up close in far too long. Pansy’s mouth curved into a smirk, and Hermione couldn’t help but think she seemed far too amused for the situation. A strand of annoyance tweaked in her stomach.

“I don’t think anyone is doing bed check tonight,” Pansy said, but Hermione shook her head.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said stiffly. “Someone could find out.”

“So?” Pansy bent her head and bit down softly on Hermione’s jugular. A bolt of something like electricity shot through her, and she felt her body jerk slightly. She tried instead to focus on the wave of irritation, the flash of anger, she could feel move through her.

“So?” She repeated. “You’re the one who’s been saying we can never let anyone know about ….” She stopped, as the anger flashed again, brighter this time. Know about what? She had been temped to say _us_ , but that wasn’t the truth. They weren’t an _us_. They weren’t even really a thing. And none of that was her fault or her decision.

“This,” she finished, and her voice was sharp.

Pansy didn’t seem to notice her tone, nor care. She just bit down again, this time harder, causing Hermione to gasp. She made a move to wriggle away, but Pansy’s weight on top of her, and Pansy’s hands against her arms, held her firmly in place.

“Maybe I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Pansy said, now kissing the bite marks she had left on Hermione’s skin. “I know what you like. What you need. And I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Whose fault is that?” Hermione snapped. The words were out of her mouth before she could help it. Pansy lifted her head again, but still she didn’t seem bothered. Her eyes glinted as if Hermione had said something funny.

“Yours,” Pansy said. “I believe you were off helping _The Chosen One_ ” — she said his name so derisively — “hunt Horcruxes. Or whatever it was you were doing that you couldn’t be here at school. With me.”

Hermione glared and maneuvered her arms so she could grab Pansy by the shoulders, wanting to push her off, push her away, but Pansy was too fast. She blocked her movement, grabbed her wrists and forced her arms above her head. Her eyes bored into Hermione’s.

“You’re the one who left without telling me,” Pansy said softly, almost chiding, and for a moment, her eyes were serious. “You’re the one who could have died out there. You’re the one who could have died _tonight_.”

“I didn’t think you’d care if I did,” Hermione said rudely, and she wasn’t really sure what part of Pansy’s statement she was referring to. All of it, maybe. 

Pansy’s fingers tightened around her wrists. “Maybe I wouldn’t,” she said, and it unnerved Hermione how she could say something like that without even a shred of emotion. 

“So then why are you here?” Hermione shot back. “I thought all the Slytherins left when they had the chance.”

Pansy shrugged. “Maybe I came back.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Why do you think?”

Hermione didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if what she would have said would have been the truth or what she wished would have been the truth. She had known the unspoken rules when this started: Don’t tell anyone. Don’t get attached. Don’t let it mean anything more than it was. Which had been what? A fun way to relieve stress? A way to escape all the pain and the danger that always seemed to haunt her, Ron and Harry? 

It had been too long. Almost a year. The last time Hermione had seen Pansy, the other girl was lying naked in a storage closet on the third floor of the castle, staring at her with those dark hard eyes, her own hand palming her breast. Neither one of them had spoken a word of farewell as Hermione had slipped out the door.

But time changes things. Running for your life changes things. Hermione just wasn’t sure in what ways those things had changed her. Had changed them.

So she kept quiet. So did Pansy. They just stared at each other, an unspoken challenge.

Hermione gave in first. She closed her eyes, felt the hot sting of tears against her eyelids. She could see the bodies of Remus and Tonks lying together in the Great Hall, she could see Fred lying motionless in the passageway, could see George and Ron surrounding him. She could see Harry watching them all, a look of dejection on his face.

And then she saw everything else. The lonely nights in the tent, staring at the Marauder’s Map when Harry wasn’t looking. The horrifying hours spent lying on the floor of Malfoy Manor as Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked above her, wondering where Pansy was and if she would have helped them hurt her if she could. The moment in the Great Hall when the Slytherins headed toward the door and the ache of pain as Pansy never even turned to look at her.

The nights in the restricted section of the library and in the prefects’ bathroom and in the potions classroom … The nights when she could let herself go, could stop pretending, could be safe in the knowledge that someone finally saw her for who she really was …

It was too much. It was all too much. She couldn’t deal with any of this right now, least of all with how she really felt. She just couldn’t …

A tear slipped down her cheek. A choked sob left her throat. 

Instantly, a pair of lips was pressing themselves to hers, a warm finger trailing down her cheek, following the track the tear had made.

“Let’s not talk anymore,” Pansy whispered against her lips. She dipped her tongue inside Hermione’s mouth, moved it around. Hermione gasped, struggling to breathe against the flow of tears, against Pansy’s movements.

It felt just like she remembered, just like she had dreamed about all those long nights apart.

More tears spilled down her cheeks, months of fear and worry and anxiety finally coming to a tipping point. Pansy lifted her mouth off Hermione’s, studied her for a second, then stuck the tip of her tongue out, carefully licking up all the tears, catching them as they fell in a race down Hermione’s cheeks.

Pansy stopped before the tears did, and her sudden absence just made the liquid flow faster, until Hermione realized with a start that Pansy was trailing fingers over her nightclothes, down her body, but not in the quick, rough way she normally did. This was gentle, almost tender, her hand barely grazing her, as though she was afraid to really dig in.

Pansy’s fingers stopped at the hem of Hermione’s nightdress, and Hermione took in a breath, waiting, wondering, not even knowing what she wanted to happen but simultaneously wanting to curl into a ball and hide while also being shagged senseless so she could just forget about everything that was wrong and hurtful and terrifying.

But Pansy didn’t let her do either — she didn’t stop nor did she speed up. Instead, her fingers very carefully grasped the hem of Hermione’s nightdress and she pushed it up Hermione’s body, slowly, carefully, gently. Up and over her thighs, over her hips, revealing white cotton knickers, up her stomach, over her breasts, until finally Pansy stopped, leaving the cloth bunched around her neck. 

Hermione felt a whisper of cool breath across her bare breasts, and she trembled slightly as Pansy bent over her, taking a nipple into her mouth, sucking on it as though it were a fine piece of chocolate. Her left hand palmed Hermione’s other breast, gently kneaded it, and the tenderness of the touch sent a new wave of tears down Hermione’s face.

Pansy looked up, reached up a hand and stroked Hermione’s cheek.

“No crying,” she said, but it was less one of her commands she usually issued during sex and more just a casual observance. Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion, but Pansy had already turned back to Hermione’s body and was now making her way down her stomach, tracing the muscles of her abdomen with her fingers, circling her tongue around Hermione’s belly button, slipping her hands under the waistband of Hermione’s knickers and pulling them down, down, down … 

“I’ve missed this,” Pansy said quietly as she worked, so quietly Hermione almost didn’t hear her. She left the knickers dangling off Hermione’s right ankle and used her hands to spread Hermione’s legs far apart, positioning herself between them.

Hermione wanted to tell her she had missed _her_ , but the words died far before they could reach her tongue. It was only sex. It was all it had ever been.

She closed her eyes instead and tried to stop the tears as Pansy’s fingers trailed between her legs, exploring every fold and crevice and making Hermione’s body shudder in anticipation. She jerked her hips against Pansy, but the other girl didn’t speed up. She just kept going, gently touching and teasing and stroking until Hermione couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her lips.

“Shhhhhh,” Pansy said, and she traced her fingers from Hermione’s clit downward until finally, finally, she slipped one inside, holding it there until Hermione had adjusted to the feel.

Hermione rocked her hips upward, a silent sign of consent, and Pansy smiled at her before bending her head to suck Hermione’s clit between her lips. Hermione moaned as a rush of heat spread through her body and began to pool deep in her gut. 

Pansy was moving her finger now, gently and carefully, as her tongue and her lips lavished attention on her clit. All of it was so soft and almost tender. Almost _loving_.

The thought sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down Hermione’s face, and she felt her breath turn ragged, a combination of pleasure and sorrow. She wanted to reach out a hand, tell Pansy to stop, ask her what she was even doing, but instead all she could do was tilt her head back and close her eyes as her back arched and her fingers dug into the sheets. 

Pansy’s ministrations sped up, and suddenly Hermione was back on her first day of her sixth year, yelling at Pansy in an empty corridor for being such a bitch, and then Pansy was grabbing her, snogging her hard and deep, and Hermione was gasping for air and fighting a combination of complete revulsion and curiosity. 

Revulsion and curiosity — the same two emotions she had felt a week later when Pansy shoved her hand up her skirt and finger-fucked her behind a statue, the same two emotions she felt three months after that when she let Pansy tie her up and have her way with her.

The same two emotions that had been in every encounter … until they weren’t. And the same two emotions that were back now as she realized that she hadn’t even noticed when they went away.

But there was no time to think about that now. Pansy was adding a second finger and a third, and she was licking Hermione so sweetly and delicately and it was doing something to Hermione that she didn’t understand.

She didn’t understand any of this. 

Pansy seemed to read her thoughts. “Just let go,” she said. “I’ve got you,” and it was the most genuine thing Hermione could ever remember hearing her say. She wanted to comment on it, to acknowledge it, but her body was no longer her own, and a few seconds later, she was shattering beneath Pansy, lost to the world.

When she came back to herself, it was to find Pansy wrapped around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She glanced down and realized with a start that somewhere along the line both her nightdress and knickers had been fully removed and now she was just lying there open. Exposed. She made a move to reach for a blanket, but Pansy caught her hand.

“Don’t,” she said. “I like you this way.”

Hermione turned her head to stare at her. “Why are you here?” she asked again. 

When Pansy gave no indication of ever planning to answer — she just kept circling her fingers around Hermione’s hip — Hermione sighed. “I need to know,” she said.

“Maybe I don’t know,” Pansy said.

“I can’t live my life on maybes,” Hermione answered.

Pansy propped her chin up on Hermione’s stomach and looked at her, her expression so neutral Hermione couldn’t read her at all.

“Isn’t it enough,” she finally said, “that I’m here now?”

Hermione didn’t answer. Not then, not later. Instead, she fell asleep to the sound of Pansy’s breath fluttering in her ear, the touch of her skin warm against her and the feeling of something that might be akin to love blossoming in her stomach.

She awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows, blinding her.

She awoke to an empty bed.

•••

Ginny was waiting for her at the entrance to the Great Hall. Ginny. Her friend, who had just lost her brother, who looked exhausted and sad, but who smiled at her when she came closer.

“Ginny,” Hermione started, “I’m so …”

But Ginny shook her head, reached out a hand to give her a folded white piece of paper. “Pansy left this for you,” she said.

It took Hermione till halfway through breakfast to open it. There were seven words, written in Pansy’s neat, flowery scroll.

_I’ll wait for you. You know where._

Hermione did know where. The same place they had met so many times before, all those days and weeks and months ago. It felt like a lifetime.

She looked around her. There was a weird energy in the air, a combination of unspeakable grief coupled with immense relief and a newfound hope. She could see people with red, puffy eyes and people who looked like they wanted to smile forever. She could see professors already pointing out damage, already making a plan to put Hogwarts back together, to put their home back together.

Their home. Their life.

_“Isn’t it enough,” Pansy had said last night, “that I’m here now?”_

Hermione finished the biscuit she was eating and stuffed the note in her pocket. She glanced around one more time and made her decision.

She went to find Pansy.


End file.
